


when they come for me, when they call my name

by bulletville (foxlives)



Category: Justified
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 13:37:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8210524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxlives/pseuds/bulletville
Summary: AU. Ava's the one who left Harlan at nineteen and never looked back.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i've been meaning to write this fic since season six aired, and ava and raylan had the conversation in 6.08 where ava says they're "too alike, i think." i'd initially wanted to write a fic where their plotlines were swapped entirely; this isn't quite that fic, but i was still deeply enamored of the idea of ava basically getting raylan's plotline on the show, so here we are.

The Miami sun burns down on the rooftop, glints off the pool. Ava squints into it, watching until she sees him, sitting at a table off in the corner. A good spot, away from people, and she already knows what they both know is going to happen.

She walks over to him with measured steps, her long braid swinging down her back. When she sits across the table from him Tommy Bucks doesn't look surprised.

"The airport's a good forty-five from here," Ava tells him. "But I figure you'll be all right if you leave in the next few minutes."

Bucks smiles at her, flat and reptilian. "You know," he says, "it's cute, what you're doing here. Trying to get me to leave town, pretending you're a big bad Marshal from a Steve McQueen movie or something. But it won't work."

Ava smiles, small and tight. "You know, I was there," she tells him. "I watched what you did. Smacked that woman around like she was your property."

Bucks just smirks. "What's the matter, honey?" he asks. "You want to be treated the same?"

Ava's fingers clench against her leg, but she doesn't let him see her react. "That was a mistake," she says, voice whetted sharp. "Cause I don't take kindly to that kind of behavior."

"So that's why you told me to leave, huh," Bucks asks her, unconcerned. "Let me tell you, honey, if you're goin after every wife beater in Florida now, you're gonna have your work cut out for you."

"I saw the coroner's report later," she goes on, voice hard. "Blunt force trauma to the head. What, you smack her a little harder than you meant to one day? Or is that exactly what you meant to do?"

"The coroner's report didn't even mention me," Bucks says.

"Oh, I know," Ava says. "But I can put the pieces together."

"So, what?" Bucks asks, smirking at her. "You gonna run me out of town or shoot me on sight, is that it?"

"I'm giving you a chance she never had," Ava tells him. "I'm lettin you live. You just gotta get out of town, and you'll never see my face again." Ava looks down at her watch. "By my count you got ten minutes, but I'll warn you, I may lose patience at five."

Bucks laughs, shakes his head. He sets his napkin down on the table and shifts his weight. His gun must be under the table then, to her left, his right. "Come on, honey," he says. "Eat with me. Give up this bullshit crusade."

"It ain't a crusade," Ava says, "and I ain't hungry. Eight."

"What—just a second ago I had ten minutes," Bucks protests. 

"And now you got eight," Ava tells him. "And you keep sittin here, it'll be less than that."

Bucks shakes his head at her, then he starts to smile. "You're not gonna shoot me," he says, certain. "You pretend to be all big and bad but I know. You won't pull that trigger."

"If it comes to it, I will," Ava assures him calmly. "Six."

"Jesus," Bucks says, "what is this?"

"You six-minute warning," Ava tells him. "And remember what I said about losin patience at five."

Bucks just shakes his head. "You're crazy," he says. "You're a crazy bitch, you know that?"

Ava just stares him down across the table.

"Jesus," Bucks says again, and she watches his arm shift slightly. Wrapping his hard around his gun. "This is bullshit, you know that? You come up here with your bullshit threats, just cause you saw me tool up some bitch even crazier than you? You're a piece of work, lady. This is grade-A bullshit."

"Five," Ava says.

They stare each other down across the table. For several long seconds Ava thinks he might not do it, and she's not sure what she'll do then, doesn't know how to react outside the inevitability of violence. 

But then his arm moves fast, snakelike, and she sees the glint of his pistol. She draws her own gun, shoots him three times center mass.

He collapses back in his chair, already dead. People scream behind her, and Ava stands up, sets her gun down on the table. Looks down at Bucks's body, and feels the cold, certain inevitability of it. 

 

*

 

There are investigations and dour IA agents and her boss, stern-faced throughout it all. Ava sits through all of it, answering questions calmly and accurately. The details of how she knew Bucks, what happened the day before she met up with him, every moment up on the rooftop.

"I did what I had to do," she tells the investigators.

She still gets sent away, her boss explaining that she's become a liability to the office. "I asked around," he tells her, "seeing who would take you, and Rachel Brooks put in a good word. You two know each other?"

Ava lets out a breath. "Yeah," she says, "we know each other." They had met at a Marshals conference years ago, bonding over being two of the only women there and Southern girls besides. 

"Well," her boss says, "she's chief of the Eastern District of Kentucky now, and she said they need someone."

Ava looks up, surprised. She had known Rachel had made chief, but she realizes only now that she hadn't known where. "Kentucky?" she repeats. "The Eastern District?"

"The very same," he says. "I'd be happy about this, Ava. You don't have many other options."

Ava knows that perfectly well, and so she grits her teeth, and says nothing.

 

*

 

The morning after Ava's flight gets into Lexington, she drives to the courthouse, follows the floor guide to the Marshals office. 

Rachel spots her through the glass wall of the chief's office, and Ava watches her says something into the phone cradled against her ear and hang up. "Ava," she says, walking out into the bullpen.

"Rachel," Ava says, and finds her smile is mostly natural. They shake hands, both aware that anything more would seem overly emotional, demonstrative. "I'm glad to be here."

"Glad to have you," Rachel says. Ava laughs a little, knowing they're both aware of the circumstances that led her here. Still, it means something that Rachel had volunteered to take her. "This is Nelson and Tim." The two men sitting behind desks in the bullpen each wave in turn. "You'll get more acquainted soon, I'm sure," she says, and Ava's pretty sure she's not imagining the dry note to Rachel's voice. For now, though, she gestures Ava towards her office. "For now, I'll give you the run down."

"Easing me into it?" Ava asks, following Rachel into her office, sitting down in the offered chair.

"Actually," Rachel says, sitting in her own chair behind the desk, "we've already got a case we want you to take a look at. Local boys, around your age, thought you might know them. Or know of them."

Rachel hands her a set of two files, both fairly thick. Ava looks down at the top file and gets a shock: Raylan Givens stares back at her out of what's clearly a mugshot, the first time she's seen him in almost twenty years.

"Jesus, Rachel," Ava says, half-laughing because she doesn't know what else to do.

"Well I take it you know him," Rachel says. "What about the other one?"

Ava's pretty sure she knows who's photo she's going to find clipped to the next file, and sure enough, Boyd Crowder's face stares up at her from the file underneath Raylan's. "Yeah, I knew them," Ava says, shaking her head a little. "That one—" she points to Boyd's photo "—is my brother-in-law. Was my brother-in-law."

Rachel raises her eyes, and Ava can tell she's surprised her. Not an easy feat, she knows, with Rachel. "You were married?" Rachel asks.

"Yep," Ava says, faking a casual attitude. "Still was, until five years ago when my husband took a shotgun blast to the stomach."

Rachel shakes her head a little. "Bowman Crowder," she says, clearly putting the pieces together. "I. . .wouldn't have guessed," she says delicately.

"It's a long story," Ava says. Then she sighs, laughs a little. "No, it ain't. We got married right outta high school. He started beatin on me after that, so I ran away, never came back." She risks looking over at Rachel, who's looking at her with a carefully neutral expression. Not pity, thank god. "Boyd was a few years ahead of us in school, but I knew him a little. I ain't surprised you're showin me his mugshot, truth be told."

Rachel smiles a little. "And the other one? Givens?"

"I knew him too," Ava says, and hopes his voice hasn't gained the wistful edge she fears. "He and Boyd worked together in a deep mine, right outta high school."

"Well," Rachel says, when it's clear Ava isn't saying anything else, "they quit the mine after a few years, went into robbing banks together. They have a whole system—Crowder goes somewhere, blows up a car. Then when the police are scrambling to clean that mess up, Givens goes and robs a bank on the other side of town. Then Crowder blows something else up, another distraction or just for fun, and they get away free."

Ava shakes her head a little. "But they got caught?" she says, nodding to the mugshots.

Rachel shakes her head. "Not for that," she says. "They've both done time at Alderson for petty shit, but they've never gotten more than a few years apiece."

"But they got caught now?"

"Not exactly," Rachel says. "Someone blew up a church last night with a rocket-launcher. It's Crowder's MO, so we want him in for questioning."

"And you want me to go find him?" Ava asks.

"If you wouldn't mind," Rachel says with a half-smile. 

"What about Raylan?" she asks. "You need him for something, too?"

"No," Rachel says carefully, "but the state police haven't had any luck yet in tracking Crowder down.  
Givens is his only known associate who isn't dead or in prison right now, so I thought we might start with him."

Ava nods. "He bombed a church?" she asks, looking back up at Rachel.

Rachel nods. "It was a black church," she explains. "And the pastor was dealing dope on the side. We figure either one could've been a reason."

"They're dope dealers now, too?" Ava asks. She's felt the ground slipping out from under her ever since she set foot back in Kentucky, and now more than ever, hearing about what Boyd and Raylan have become. She figures she shouldn't be surprised but she still is, a little, an unexpected blow to the chest.

"We don't know," Rachel says. "But Bo Crowder, Boyd's father—you probably knew that," she adds with a wry smile, and Ava concedes with a little half-laugh,"—Bo Crowder was heavily into the dope business, before he was put away some years back. We figure Boyd could be working for him, getting ready for his release next year."

"Jesus," Ava says again, shaking her head. "Welcome home, I guess."

Rachel smiles at her, kind. "You want another day? I could send Tim to go poke around a little."

Ava shakes her head firmly. "No," she says. "I'll go."

"Good," Rachel says, standing up. "Because honestly, none of us here can figure out those Harlan roads."

Ava laughs, the first genuine laugh she can remember for a while. "Glad to be of service," she says.

 

*

 

Ava steps out of the car, onto the ragged front lawn of the Givens house. It looks like it's seen better days, but it still sits solid on the top of its hill. She passes by the three gravestones, still standing watch over the land: Frances's and Arlo's now have death dates etched into them, but Raylan's still sits between them, _1970-_ more ominous than anything.

Ava's only just passed them when the screen door opens, and Raylan stands in front of her on his porch, looking nearly twenty years older but still as handsome as ever. The way he's watching her walk toward him has that old look, soft and fond. 

"Raylan Givens," she says, making it to the porch stairs.

"Ava Crowder," Raylan responds, and then they're standing in front of each other.

She's not sure which of them moves first, who has the idea before the other, but then they're both leaning in, toward each other. The kiss is short, and mostly chaste, but it's still a shock once it's happening. They both pull back, just as much of one mind as they had been leaning in.

Raylan clears his throat. Ava says, "It's Ava Randolph again, actually."

"Really," Raylan says, recovering quickly. He raises his eyebrows. "Thought I woulda heard about it if you served Bowman divorce papers." He nods his head for her to follow him, and leads her inside the house.

"I didn't," she says, "but I had it changed back legally some time ago now."

"Makes sense," Raylan says, leading the way to the kitchen. "I can imagine not wantin the Crowder name hangin over you. You want something?" he asks. "I ain't got much besides beer, bourbon. Maybe some Cokes in the fridge."

"I'm good," she tells him, leaning her hip against the counter. He mirrors her, hooking his thumbs in his front pockets. "Actually, the Crowder name is why I came by here."

Raylan raises his eyebrows again, amused. "You mean this ain't a social call?" he asks, teasing.

"Afraid not," Ava says, teasing right back. "I'm with the Marshal Service now, you hear about that?"

"I did."

"Well, I'm lookin for Boyd," she tells him.

Some kind of shadow passes over Raylan's face. "Well, you ain't gonna find him here," he says sharply.  
Ava looks at him, surprised. "I didn't think I would," she says, though now she wonders if Raylan doesn't have him hidden away in a broom closet or something. "I just wanted to ask around, see if you knew where he was." She watches him for a moment. "Marshal's office in Lexington tells me you're one of his 'known associates.'"

Raylan scoffs, looks away. "I own a bar with the man, that don't make me his _associate_."

"All right," Ava says easily, figuring she doesn't have to play all her cards straight out. "Still might mean you know where he is, though."

Raylan looks back at her, studies her for a moment. "That why you came back here?" he asks. "Goin after Boyd?"

"I was sent here," Ava says matter-of-factly, "and I was told to do a job, so I'm doin it."

Raylan nods. "You were sent, huh?"

"Yep," she says shortly. "And I was sent down here, too, as apparently none of the other Lexington Marshals can make hide nor hair of these here hills."

Raylan smiles at her a little, a bitter twist of his mouth. She realizes how strong had accent had gotten, wonders at how fast it came back, talking to Raylan. 

"So you're stayin, huh?" Raylan asks, and his voice is soft, softer than she would've expected.

"For now, anyway," she tells him.

They look at each other, a long, heavy moment. Raylan's the first to look away, and when he does he says, "Boyd'll be at the bar, probably. Johnny's old bar," he adds, when he can see she's about to ask.

She raises her eyebrows. "You two own Johnny's bar?"

"He got himself shot around the time we were good and ready to quit the mines, so it worked out," he says. "If Boyd's not out in front he'll be around back."

"Well," Ava says, "thank you, Raylan."

Raylan tips an invisible hat to her. "For you, Ava," he says sincerely, "anything."

 

*

 

Ava walks in to Johnny's old bar with her hands at her sides, not resting one on her holster as she'd like to. She has too many bad memories of being in here with Bowman, him loud and drunk and her never knowing when they got home that night if he'd be sick or mad or sweet as a kitten. It was that uncertainty that was the worst, she thinks: she could've prepared if she knew it was going to be bad but she never knew what to do with uncertainty. 

Inside the bar looks mostly the same as she remembers it: pool table and neon beer signs, maybe a little cleaner and neater than in Johnny's day. Quieter than she remembers, too, seeing as it's barely noon on a Tuesday.

There's an old man nursing a beer at the counter and a young girl, couldn't be more than thirteen or fourteen, wiping down tables. She looks up when Ava walks in. "Ma'am," she says. She has an overly serious face, that could be comical if Ava didn't know how she'd probably gotten it. "Can I help you?"

Ava knows she looks skeptical. "And who are you?" she asks.

The girl just raises her eyebrows. "Seein as you ain't told me who you are yet, ma'am, as I see it it's hardly fair if I divulge who I am to you."

"Well then," Ava says. She pulls her badge out of her back pocket, opens it to show her ID and star. "I'm Deputy U.S. Marshal Ava Randolph. Now you wanna tell me who you are?"

The girl holds out her hand, clearly looking for the badge, and Ava hands it over. The girl inspects in for a moment, then hands it back. "I'm Loretta," she says shortly. "And I'll warn you we don't take kindly to law enforcement here."

"I'm just lookin for someone," Ava says. "Boyd Crowder. I heard he'd be here."

Now the girl—Loretta—looks somehow even more suspicious. "Well, he ain't."

"Really," Ava says. "Cause I have it on good authority he is."

"Whose authority?"

"The owner of this bar, girl," she says, patience finally deteriorating. "Raylan Givens just told me I'd find Boyd here, so forgive me if I take his word over yours."

"You talked to Raylan?" Loretta asks. Her whole manner seems to change in an instant, and it makes her look younger, not so hard and distrustful.

"I did," Ava tells her shortly. "Now, you gonna tell me where Boyd is or not?"

Loretta looks at her another moment, as if sizing her up, then turns on her heel and walks over to the back room door. She knocks, short and smart, says, "Boyd? There's some lady Marshal here to see you. Says Raylan sent her."

There's a voice through the door that Ava can't make out, then Loretta turns back to her and nods her over. "Go on in," Loretta says.

Ava passes by her and pushes open the door, walking into the back room. It's dim, the same wood paneling on the walls she remembers. The same dark, heavy feeling.

Boyd's there, sitting at a solid wood desk set in the middle of the room. He's leaned back in his chair, surveying the room: when she walks in she feels him look her up and down.

"Ava," he says, in that oddly calm way of his. "What a surprise."

"Boyd," Ava replies shortly. "You know," she says, nodding toward the door Loretta had disappeared from, "a bar is no place for a girl that young."

Boyd smiles slightly, as if at something she has no hope of ever understanding. "Well, her home ain't much of a place for a girl that young neither, and at least this is honest work."

"Uh-huh," Ava says, figuring she'll pursue what that means later. "So you're sayin only honest work goes on here, then?"

Boyd smiles again, unsettling. "Did Raylan really send you?"

"He did," Ava says. "I was just up the Givens place, he sent me down here to find you."

"Really," Boyd says. He stands up, a single smooth movement. "You didn't come straight here? Cause I'm pretty sure the Marshals have this listed as my place of business, it seems like it would make more sense to look for me here."

"You know how many criminals have places of business listed they never even set foot in?" Ava asks coolly, but irritation is prickling at her, knowing Boyd is right and knowing Boyd knows it, too. "A known associate is usually the safest way to go."

" _Known associate_ ," Boyd repeats, that same amused look. "Well, I'm sure Raylan liked hearin that."

"He denied it, actually," Ava says casually. "Said you owned this bar together and that was all."  
Boyd just smiles at her a moment, small and tight. "What'd you come here for, Ava?" he asks her, voice still soft, barely this side of threatening.

"Lexington Marshal's office sent me," she tells him, blunt, not breaking eye contact. "You're wanted as a suspect in that church bombing that went on yesterday, you hear about that?"

"I did," Boyd says. "We live in the twenty-first century even way down here, Ava, we hear about all sorts of things."

"Oh yeah?"

"Like we heard about you shootin that gun thug down in Miami," Boyd goes on. "Right across the dinner table, wasn't it?"

"It was," Ava says shortly. She doesn't want to talk about this, and certainly not with Boyd. 

"Just tell me one thing," Boyd asks her. He walks around the side of the desk, coming to stand directly in front of her. Ava wants to take a step back but won't, won't give Boyd the satisfaction. "How'd you know you wouldn't hurt anyone else? What would've happened if you'd missed? Or if a shot had gone wild?

Ava stares him down. "I don't miss," she says coolly. "And I got him before he had a chance to get any shots off."

Boyd's wide smile is back. "Cold as ice," he says, appreciative. "And now, just tell me one more thing, Ava," he goes on, leaning, somehow, even closer to her. "At any point," he asks, "when you were lookin at that gun thug, did you see my brother's face?"

Ava feels something constrict in her chest, and she grits her teeth. _How dare you_ , she wants to shout in his face. _What gives you the goddamn right_. Instead, she says, "We need you to be in a police lineup, tomorrow. The Lexington courthouse, nine o'clock. Be there, Boyd."

"Of course, Ava," Boyd says, smooth as anything.

Ava turns to leave, knowing she's done here. The doorknob under her hand, though, Boyd says, "Would you shoot me, Ava? If you get the chance?"

Ava turns back to look at him, dead in the eye. "I'll do what I have to do," she says, and leaves.

 

*

 

Ava's at the courthouse early the next morning, and Boyd's there not much later. She'll admit she's surprised: she'd learned a long time ago not to take a Crowder at his word. 

She watches as he and five other men are ushered inside the glass-paneled room, watches as the pastor is brought in and says that it was dark, that he didn't see a thing. She lets out a frustrated breath, walks out.

She's standing by the front doors when she sees Boyd walking toward her, apparently set free. She doesn't change her stance, meets his eyes as he walks toward her almost casually. There is nothing casual in the way he's looking at her, though. "Boyd," she says, flat, as he draws up in front of her.

"Ava," he says. "As you see, I walk out of here a free man."

"I do see that," Ava says. "Don't mean I think it's right."

Boyd studies her a moment, head tilted almost birdlike. "Now," he says, "I did what you asked. But I don't appreciate bein accused of crimes I didn't commit."

"Problem is, Boyd," Ava says. "I do think you blew up that church. And just because that pastor's too afraid to ID you don't mean I think it any less."

Boyd smiles, small but dangerous. "I'm sorry to hear that, Ava," he says, and then he turns, and walks out the courthouse doors.

 

*

 

Ava knocks on the open door of Rachel's office. Rachel looks up from her computer. "Ava."

"I was just wonderin," Ava says, "we got everything that got recovered from the crime scene, right?"

Rachel leans back in her chair. "What're you thinking?" she asks. "Someone missed something?"

"I don't know," Ava admits. "I'm not thinkin anything, I guess, I just want to look around a little."

Rachel shrugs. "Sure," she says. "Local PD have everything in evidence. I could call ahead, tell them you're coming."

Ava smiles at her, small and grateful, and Rachel picks up the phone. 

She makes the drive down the Harlan, resigned. When she'd driven out of Harlan at nineteen in Bowman's truck, Lexington had been her first and at that point only goal, like somehow when she crossed into the city she'd be far enough away to be safe. Now, making the round trip twice in as many days, she has half a mind to pity the girl who'd lit out with bruises still aching on her ribs, nothing but the clothes on her back and the envelope of money Helen had pressed into her hand.

The local police department doesn't seem overly thrilled to be helping her out: the officer working the desk grunts at her and leads her around back to the evidence room. But he shows her the collection of evidence from the night of the church bombing, and gives her free reign to sort through it. There's not much, all told, and it doesn't take long for her to find something. 

She calls Rachel on her way back to the office. "You got something?" Rachel picks up.

"I don't know," Ava says. "But I got something I wanna test for prints. Seems whoever did this left behind the cap to the rocket launcher they used—Staties found it stuffed under the seat of the car, like maybe he forgot about it."

"A cap to a rocket-launcher, huh," Rachel says.

"They didn't know what it was," Ava says. "That's why they didn't do anything with it."

"All right," Rachel says. "Bring it in."

 

*

 

It takes a few days to process the cap, and it's just after Ava's gotten off work when she gets the call. Only a partial print was salvageable, but it matches Boyd's they have on file. She turns her car around, and starts toward Harlan without a second thought.

By the time she pulls up in front of Raylan's house it's dark, past suppertime. She thinks about taking her badge off, saying she's here only on personal business. In the end she keeps it on, though: she is here on Marshal business, as thin the line might beat times, and if Rachel asks her why she didn't wait until tomorrow or at least call in backup she'll say she was only here to talk. 

Ava walks up the front porch steps, knocks on the door. Raylan answers it: he looks surprised and maybe pleased but he has one hand out of sight, and while he might not have a gun on her, he most certainly has one in his hand. "Ava," he says. 

"Raylan," she says carefully. "I'm lookin for Boyd."

"What astounds me," Raylan tells her, "is that you still think you're gonna find him here."

"Call it a hunch," Ava says, and then, from behind Raylan Boyd says, "Let her in, Raylan."

A muscle in Raylan's jaw ticks. He doesn't move for a few long seconds, then steps back, letting her walk through the door.

She does, noticing that she was right about the gun in Raylan's hand: a shotgun, held casually down by his side. Boyd has a glinting steel pistol in his hand, and he says, "Hello, Ava."

"Boyd," she says. "You know, I could take in both you boys for possesin firearms, with your records."

"But you ain't gonna," Boyd tells her calmly. "That's not how you want to get us."

"I don't want to get you, Boyd," she tells him. "I'm here cause we've got more evidence linkin you to that church bombing."

"Oh yeah?" Boyd says, steely, precise. "Like what?"

"Fingerprints," Ava tells him. "We found the cap for that rocket-launcher you used, got a partial."

"That ain't enough to convict me."

"It might be," Ava says. "We'll talk about how Bo's gettin out of prison soon, how you were probably clearing the way for him to take over the Harlan dope business again. With the fingerprint, your record, and the Crowder name, you think there's a judge in this county won't convict you?"

Boyd takes a sudden step toward her, and Raylan says, "Boyd." 

Boyd doesn't take his eyes off Ava. "Stay outta this, Raylan. This don't concern you."

"The hell it don't," Raylan snaps at him. 

"It don't," Boyd says firmly. "This is about Ava, and me, and my dead brother. That's why you're doin this, right, girl?" he asks Ava. 

"I'm doin my job, Boyd," Ava tells him coldly. "And it ain't my fault your brother was a wife-beatin piece of shit, just like it ain't my fault you blew up that church and got yourself in this mess in the first place. That was people makin choices, all down the line, Boyd. Now, Bowman never did pay for his choices," she says. "But I figure one of the Crowder boys should."

Boyd just smiles at her. "You just good as admitted you're doin this outta spite."

"No, Boyd," Ava says. "I don't think you should pay for Bowman's sins, I think you should pay for your own. And that's why I'm gonna take you in tonight, not anything else."

"You ain't takin me anywhere tonight, Ava," Boyd tells her. 

"I am," she says. She slowly, deliberately puts her hand on her holster. "Drop the gun, Boyd. Put your hands in the air." There's a tiny movement to her right, and she says, "Don't do anything stupid now, Raylan. You drop that gun, too."

All three of them stand there in Raylan's front hall, silence taut and shivering. She more feels Boyd raise his gun than sees it: she pulls her own pistol from its holster and fires a single shot.

Boyd staggers backward, hand to his chest: blood is already blossoming across the front of his shirt. She steps toward him, kicks his gun away from his hand. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and dials 911.

She looks over at Raylan, who's staring at her in disbelief. The shotgun's no longer at his side, but it's aimed down, not at her. Her gamble had paid off, but she isn't surprised: she was almost certain Raylan wouldn't shoot her, even to save Boyd. 

Raylan still stares at her, eyes wide and nearly wild. "You shot him."

She doesn't reply, listening to the ring of the phone at her ear. She knows Raylan saw Boyd raise his gun, knows he knows just as well as her that had done only what she had to. 

The 911 operator picks up and she tells them calmly, "This is Deputy U.S. Marshal Ava Randolph, I'm gonna need local PD and an ambulance." She gives them Raylan's address, figures if they're sent from the local hospital they'll know how to get here, and fast. 

Raylan's dropped to his knees next to Boyd, still with the wild disbelieving look as he looks down at him. Boyd gasps for breath, an awful wet sound. His hands are bloody from trying to staunch his own wound, but he's too weak to do much good. 

"I can't believe," Boyd says, almost a whisper. "I can't believe you shot me."

Ava doesn't say anything. Raylan presses his hand to Boyd's chest, like he too is trying to keep Boyd from bleeding out in his front room, but Ava knows it's no use. If he dies here it won't be because of them: if he lives it won't be because of them either. Boyd reaches up, a weak, aborted gesture, and only ends up streaking blood across Raylan's cheek.

It's not as long as she feared it would be before the police get there, and the ambulance isn't far behind. She talks calmly to the officers, watches as they strap and handcuff Boyd to a gurney. 

Raylan walks out of the house after the paramedics. Still half-wandering, like he's in a dream. He has Boyd's blood drying on his hands and the dark streak along his jaw where Boyd had reached for him.  
Ava stands next to him in front of the house. He glances over at her, and seems to wake himself up. "You takin me in?" he asks.

Ava shakes her head. "I don't have anything to take you in on," she says.

"But Boyd?"

"If he makes it out of the emergency room, he's goin to prison," she tells him bluntly.

Raylan nods, looks back out at where the ambulance lights had retreated back into the Kentucky dark. They stand there, silent, until Ava sees someone approaching them.

"Rachel?" she asks, surprised.

"You thought you'd shoot someone your first week back and I wouldn't hear about it first thing?" Rachel asks, drawing up in front of them. She looks over at Raylan, still standing by Ava's side.

"Ma'am," Raylan says to her, and offers his hand before he looks down at it, sees the blood. He curls it into a fist and lets it fall back to his side. "Ava," he says, nodding to her, and then turns and walks back to the house.

"Givens?" Rachel asks, verifying, and Ava nods. 

"This is his house," she tells Rachel. "He was there when I shot Boyd."

"Good," Rachel says. "You'll need a witness if you're going to get out of this without the AUSA riding you down hard."

"I know," Ava says. Then, for what it's worth, she tells her, "He drew on me."

Rachel looks over at her. "I know," she says. "Didn't kill him, though."

"We don't know that, yet," Ava says. She wonders how she's going to feel if she gets that call, _Boyd Crowder died this morning of a GSW to the chest_. She supposes she won't know unless she gets it.

"Anything else I got to do now?" she asks Rachel, who shakes her head.

"You're good until the AUSA wants to talk tomorrow," she tells Ava. "I think the Staties are packing up anyway."

Ava nods. "Will you excuse me a minute?" she says. Rachel waves her away.

Ava turns back toward the house, walks up the porch steps and through the screen door. The storm door's still open, forgotten about: she pushes that open, too.

She finds Raylan inside the house, standing still. He's looking at the bloody spot when Boyd had fallen: it hasn't been long enough for the blood to dry brown and it's still vivid, soaked into the floorboards. Raylan frowns at it, like it's a puzzle he's trying to solve. 

"You really shot him," Raylan says, but it's not shocked, the way he'd said it as Boyd lay gasping on the floor. He says it like he's curious.

"You saw him raise his gun," she says. 

"I did."

"What would you have done?" she asks him, looking at him straight on.

Raylan looks up, looks over to meet her eyes. "I don't know," he says, and it sounds like a confession.

"You didn't shoot me."

"That's different."

"Because I'm a woman, or because I'm the law?" Ava asks him, raising her eyebrows.

"Both, I suppose," Raylan tells her. "Mostly, you're not someone I've ever had any desire to shoot."

They both look back to the red-soaked patch of floorboards. "I had no desire to shoot him," Ava says, feels like she needs to say.

"You didn't?"

"No," Ava says, shaking her head. They look at each other, the two of them and Boyd's blood on the floor between them. She tells him, quiet and sure: "I did what I had to do."

**Author's Note:**

> title from delta rae. come cry about ava with me on [tumblr](http://foxlives.tumblr.com/).


End file.
